


into the open air

by besidemethewholedamntime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Family, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: “What I’m saying, Jemma,” her mother says as she stirs some sugar into her tea, “is that I don’t quite understand why you had to keep it a secret all of these years.”Jemma takes a sip of her own tea, which her mum still makes exactly how she likes it without asking, even though she hasn’t made it in years. “I thought I explained all of this on the phone,” she says patiently. “It wasn’t a secret, not exactly.”Jemma's reunion with her parents. It never gets any easier trying to explain themselves.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 60
Kudos: 135





	1. mother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phlebotinxm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlebotinxm/gifts).



> For Sarah, who's such a lovely bean and is always so kind. Thank you so much for being you and I hope you like this!
> 
> This is Jemma's reunion with her parents, a kind of follow up to my work 'time and children' which features Fitz's reunion with his mum. It's a bit bigger and so it's three chapters, for no other reason that I just didn't think anyone would want to read 8K in one go. The subsequent chapters will be posted tomorrow and Monday though so you won't have to wait long!
> 
> Title is from 'Into the Open Air' from the Brave soundtrack. If you've seen the film then you'll know what I mean when I say it's quite a fitting song ;)
> 
> I'm a bit nervous to post this one because it was quite hard to write and it's taken me nearly 2 months to finish but I'm so happy I have. I really hope you enjoy it!

“What I’m saying, Jemma,” her mother says as she stirs some sugar into her tea, “is that I don’t quite understand why you had to keep it a secret all of these years.”

Jemma takes a sip of her own tea, which her mum still makes exactly how she likes it without asking, even though she hasn’t made it in years. “I thought I explained all of this on the phone,” she says patiently. “It wasn’t a secret, not exactly.”

She turns to Fitz who sits next to her at the kitchen table, Alya sitting on his knee whilst colouring in. They’ve been to see his mother, they did so nearly two weeks ago now, and though Jemma left them to it for their initial reunion, she can imagine quite well how Maggie Fitz reacted to the news. Her own parents are less outward with their feelings, but their indignation and hurt at being left in the dark isn’t any less real.

“It wasn’t that we didn’t want to tell you,” Fitz supplies, which is only fair as Jemma was the one who had to soothe his mother after their initial phone call. “It just wasn’t possible where we were.”

“In space!” Alya decides to helpfully shout at that moment, causing a hushed _not right now, monkey_ from Fitz, who looks from Jemma to her parents with a nervous smile.

“Yes, in space,” Jemma clarifies, ignoring Fitz’s widened eyes, knowing that her parents won’t think to ask anything of it.

True enough, her mum exchanges a fond _how adorable_ glance with her dad as she comes to sit at the table, but says instead to Jemma, “There must have been _some_ way though, pet. Some way that meant you could tell us something, anything.”

Her dad laughs as he drinks his coffee, and to Jemma, the act is more like a hug than anything could ever be. “I’m just surprised she managed to keep it a secret at all. You know what our Jemma is like, never been able to keep up a lie in her whole life.”

“Yes, well she never had to lie to us, did she, Stephen?” Her mum says with an eye roll to accompany it. “You don’t have to lie if you simply don’t speak to your parents for years.”

Jemma remembers there was a time where rarely a week went by when she didn’t communicate with her parents in some way, whether that be through phone or letter or even a care package sent with all of her favourite snacks when she was younger. The idea of just not speaking to them was never even a thought; it wasn’t until she joined Coulson’s team that it became not only a thought, but a reality.

It was never a conscious decision, but the less she was able to tell them, the more time there seemed to be between phone calls, and weeks easily turned into months which eventually turned into years.

She’s missed them, of course she has, but she was so used to not seeing them anyway that not speaking to them came frighteningly easy. Her entire world narrowed down until it was just SHIELD, and then just Coulson’s team, and eventually it narrowed down until it was just the three of them in amongst the stars, and in widening it back up again, there’s a part of her that wishes it could have stayed that way.

“It’s complicated,” she offers. “It’s something that we can’t really explain.”

It’s something she’s said to them already, when she phoned them after they had just moved to Scotland and were in the process of settling into their new life. _It’s extremely complicated and unable to be explained._ So much of their life at SHIELD fell under that phrase that she’d hoped her parents would just accept it the way they’ve accepted everything else. Only this time they had gone _couldn’t you just try, pet_ and spent half an hour trying to cajole the story of how she came back with a daughter after dead silence all of these years.

“You must be able to tell us something, love?” Her mum asks hopefully. “Surely you’re allowed to tell us how our own granddaughter came into this world?”

“Is that me?” Alya whispers to Fitz, who bites back a laugh with a great effort and kisses her on top of her hair.

“Your fish is looking great,” he says, with a sideways glance at Jemma. “I think you could use some more purple though.”

“No, Daddy.” Alya rolls her eyes. “More pink.”

“My apologies,” he tells her seriously, and hands her the pink pencil.

“We really can’t, Mum,” Jemma says through gritted teeth, trying to keep her tone light for their daughter’s benefit. “We’d love to, truly, but it’s just impossible.”

Her mum scoffs, shaking her head in clear disappointment. “What have we always told you, Jemma? Nothing’s impossible.”

“Alright,” her dad says, laying a hand over one of her mum’s. “Enough, Melissa. We’ve been over this already.”

“Don’t we have a right?” Her mum says, turning to him. “Don’t we deserve to know?”

“I think we gave up that right when we let her go off to America,” he says softly, a smile in Jemma’s direction. “And does it really matter now? We’ve got them back, love.”

“That’s true. You’re right.” She squeezes her husband’s hand in response. “She’s home.” And then a little softer, a reassurance for herself more than anybody else, “She’s home.”

The tears in her mum’s eyes pull at Jemma’s heart. When she was growing up she never saw her parents cry. Even the day she took her suitcase full of clothes and books and carefully coded binders and rolled it away from them to board the flight to the US, they had remained dry-eyed. They had hugged her and kissed her and warned her to phone, but then they had handed over her passport and her ticket and gently pushed her to go. It was the same way they had pushed her to go into school on her first day, or into the hospital for her scoliosis surgery. Softly and yet firmly at the same time, reminding her that the path she must go is ahead, and it was one she had chosen to go alone.

Her whole life it feels as though she has been walking away from them, and it’s such a funny feeling to now try and return.

Her dad looks between Jemma and her mum and, patting her mum gently on her hand, pushes back his chair. Turning to Fitz and the toddler on his knee, he says, “Alya, I’ve got some real fish in the pond in the back garden. Would you like to see?”

Alya’s face lights up in an instant, a thousand times more radiant than the sun. “Yes!”

“I thought you might,” her dad chuckles. He comes round to stand next to their chair and holds out his hand. “Come with me then, love. Let’s give your nana and parents a minute.”

Alya’s face changes and she suddenly shrinks back into Fitz, sticking her thumb in her mouth. “No, thank you,” she mumbles around it.

Jemma looks to Fitz, on the edge of her seat to reach her daughter, but he gives her a look as if to say _I’ve got this_ and bends his neck to where Alya has pressed her cheek to his chest. They have a quick whispered conversation that neither Jemma nor her parents can hear.

Jemma looks at her dad, worried that this will be a mark against her, a guilty weight that she doesn’t need for she feels plenty guilty of her own. These past few months have been a lot for their daughter; there’s been so much for her to get used to. For the most part she has coped well, and the whole world is both her classroom and her playground, an endless place to play and explore. There is nothing she doesn’t find fascinating, and every day there is something new she is utterly enamoured with.

With people, too, she copes well. For so many years Alya’s whole world had revolved around her parents and Enoch; they were the limit of her knowledge. Though they showed her pictures and told her stories of their family, both biological and otherwise, they were nothing more than an abstract concept to their daughter. She has never had to worry about other people’s reactions, she has never had to learn that there are some things she cannot say. Up until the past few months, for her, there was no such thing as a stranger.

Alya naturally takes things in her stride, and she makes friends easily with her monkey grin or her giggles that sound like bubbles popping in the air. She is sociable and pliable, able to be persuaded, but only in the company of her parents. The changes have made her cling to both of them tightly, and there is nothing that can be done to tempt her away.

Jemma wants to explain it, that she’s just afraid of being away from her parents. She wants to defend her little girl and say that there’s been a lot for her to cope with recently and it’s not her fault. All of a sudden, she wants to press Alya to her and never let her go again, and all of these desires clash together in her chest and she is rooted to her chair, her heart a wet lump in her throat.

Her father simply smiles his kind smile, the one Jemma remembers from her days of skinned knees and grazed palms, and crouches down next to Fitz’s chair.

“Why doesn’t Daddy come with us, mm? We’ll all go and see the fish and explore the garden for a bit, and your mummy and Nana will be right here waiting for us when we get back.”

Alya considers it for a second before nodding her agreement, and she slides off Fitz’s lap. There is only a second of hesitation before she takes her grandfather’s outstretched hand. Fitz takes her other hand and the three of them make their way out to the garden in such a way that makes Jemma feel very young and very old at the exact same time.

“She’s such a precious little thing,” her mum comments, watching the three of them go.

Jemma smiles. “Well of course I agree with you, but then again I’m biased.”

Her mum sighs. “You don’t always have to be so logical, pet. There’s no need to explain yourself to me.”

After a lifetime of explaining and making herself understood, simply turning it off is something that’s never going to come easily to her, but explaining that to her mum will only prolong this avenue of conversation that Jemma isn’t really interested in exploring. So she simply smiles and says nothing, taking another sip of her tea.

Then her mum says, “Well… you could explain how you could keep my granddaughter from me for over three years. There might be a need for that.”

Jemma goes to roll her eyes, only just stopping herself in time. “Mum, we’ve already told you, it’s not something we can explain.”

There’s sharp bang against the table, and it takes a moment for Jemma to realise that it’s the sound of her mum’s teacup being slammed down.

“Now, look,” her mum says, and the no-nonsense tone instantly makes Jemma feel as though she’s ten years old again and about to get scolded for digging up her mother’s roses to find worms. “I might not be as academic as you or your father, but that doesn’t mean I’m not intelligent, that I can’t see what’s right in front of my own eyes.”

“You think I don’t notice the way your little girl clings to you? The way that Fitz won’t let you out of his sight? The way you keep hovering over Alya like you’d expect with a newborn, not a girl who’s almost four?” Her mum fixes her with a look, brown eyes widening as if daring Jemma to disagree with her.

“I know to you I’m just your interfering mother who has never learned when to keep her mouth shut or when to stop poking her nose in, but to me, Jemma, you are my daughter.” Her tone is firm, and whilst the words might be soft, Jemma knows this for what it is. “I just want to help you, make it easier for you, make it better for you. Now that you’re a mother yourself, surely you understand that?”

Jemma does understand this, understands her mother now better than she ever has before. For Alya she would do _anything._ It’s been almost four years, but even now the thought of it scares her.

“I do,” she says quietly, feeling the telltale sting in her eyes. “It just doesn’t feel that simple.”

She loves her mother, she really does, but there’s always been something between them, a barrier that looks invisible but is clearly able to be felt whenever they come up against it.

Her mum sighs, reaching over for Jemma’s hand. “Look,” she says softly, in that way that means she regrets her harsh tone of a few sentences ago. “I know you and I will never be what we could have been to each other, but we’re here together now, Jemma. And if you would, then I’d like it to be different.”

Jemma looks down at their joined hands and then into her mother’s eyes, which are so much like her own. When she was younger, teacher’s at parents’ evenings knew exactly who her mother was just by looking at her. People used to comment on it, friends of her mother’s they met in the street. _Oh, Melissa,_ they’d coo. _She’s exactly like you._

It’s not as simple as the relationship between Fitz and his mother, and though he tries, he can’t figure it out. There’s nothing between them, not a single thing, and they understand each other in a way Jemma and her mother never will.

A little voice in the back of her head whispers _is it too late?_ The little voice that told her things like _maybe he doesn’t feel the same way_ or _maybe they aren’t looking for you_ or _maybe you won’t find him_. The little voice that she’s never much listened to anyway.

She smiles at her mum. “I’d like that, too.”

“I’m glad.” Her mum squeezes her hand. “I do love you, Jemma.”

“I know,” she says, because she does. She’s never doubted that. “I love you, too.”

Her mother has never been one for long, drawn out emotional moments and once it passes she simply disengages her hand and says, “Would you like another tea?”

Jemma accepts (if there’s one thing her mother can make it’s a cup of tea) and soon they’re chatting away as if the moment has never happened at all. Her mother tells her of everything her cousins have been up to, everything the neighbours have been doing. Cecelia has gotten married, and three down now have a dog that keeps escaping under their fence and ending up in two down’s new hot tub.

Jemma, in return, tells her mother of their new house just outside Perth that’s still a little bit of a work in progress, with its high ceilings, echoing rooms, and overgrown garden that Alya had at first thought was a jungle like the ones in her picture books. She tells her how that, even though Alya is almost four years old, motherhood is still this new and exciting thing, a bright jewel in her hands that she finds it impossible to put down.

“And we went and saw Fitz’s mum a couple of weeks ago,” Jemma says, swallowing down the last mouthful of tea in her cup.

“Ah, yes, Maggie told us all about it.” Her mum smiles. Jemma often forgets how close her parents and Fitz’s mum really are. They frequently phone each other, even text occasionally though neither of their mothers can claim to be confident with the technology of a mobile phone. She’s glad for it really. All those years she and Fitz were away, at least their parents weren’t alone.

“Yes, I imagine she did.” Jemma drums her fingers on the sides of her empty cup. “And she also told us a few things, too. Specifically, about the pony you might have mentioned…”

“Oh, _that_ ,” her mum says knowingly. “Well we were just looking into it. We haven’t bought anything yet.”

“That’s just the thing…” Jemma breaks off, thinking of Fitz’s face when he had told her what her parents had said to his mum. _We don’t have room for a pony, Jemma. We don’t. You’ll need to tell them that. You’ll need to make it absolutely clear._ “We just don’t think it’s the best time for Alya to have a pony.”

“Nonsense,” scoffs her mum. “You’ve got that big house up north with all that garden space – your dad looked it up online. You and Fitz aren’t working. It’s the perfect time to have a pony.”

Just then Fitz appears in the doorway behind her mum, Alya on his hip. Judging by the slow look of horror spreading across his face, he’s heard every word.

 _No,_ he mouths, waving his free arm frantically at her. _Tell her no._

“Mum,” she tries, but her mum just waves a hand to cut her off.

“It’s not like we’ve bought it. We just thought a pony would be nice for the little one.”

“Daddy?” Alya turns to him with her forehead creased. “What’s a pony?”

 _Aw, nice one,_ he mouths to Jemma, face just screaming unimpressed, before turning to Alya with an over-enthusiastic smile on his face.

“You know what, monkey? I think we should go and explore the rest of the house and maybe draw another fish. What do you say?”

Alya gives a cheer and he kisses her on top of her head, flashing Jemma a dirty look as he goes.

Her mum watches them leave and then turns back to Jemma, eyebrows raised. “What was that about?”

“Oh,” she waves a hand, trying not to smile. “Nothing.”

Except that really it was everything, but there are some things that just don’t have to be said.


	2. father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jemma can just make out the silhouette of her father standing by the shed and, hesitating only a moment, she slides open the kitchen door and gently slips out into the cold night air to join him. Sidling up next to him, cardigan wrapped tightly around herself, she wonders if he even notices she’s there until his voice, smooth and low as always, says, “Hello, moonbeam.”_
> 
> _The term of endearment brings a smile to her face, even though he doesn’t turn around to see it. “Hello, Dad.”_
> 
> Jemma's reunion with her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm not quite sure what else to say other than OH MY GOSH and THANK YOU SO MUCH! You've all been so wonderfully and incredibly lovely on the first chapter and I'm absolutely blown away and incredibly grateful for it. Today hasn't been the best but you have brightened it so much with your kind words, your kudos, your likes, your reblogs, even simply reading it! Truly, thank you!
> 
> This is Jemma's reunion with her father, and I hope you enjoy this one, too <3

Jemma can just make out the silhouette of her father standing by the shed and, hesitating only a moment, she slides open the kitchen door and gently slips out into the cold night air to join him. Sidling up next to him, cardigan wrapped tightly around herself, she wonders if he even notices she’s there until his voice, smooth and low as always, says, “Hello, moonbeam.”

The term of endearment brings a smile to her face, even though he doesn’t turn around to see it. “Hello, Dad.”

Fitz and her mother are involved in trying to bath Alya and, after getting up so early this morning, talking to her mother, trying to soothe Alya and explain all of these strange things she has never seen before, Jemma had felt entitled to steal away and have a small moment to herself.

Seeing her dad standing outside in the garden, however, had suddenly brought back a memory she wanted to relive, and she’d made up her mind to share this moment instead.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks, his voice leaving white wisps in the chilly night air. It’s strange to try and get used to the seasons again, having lived in the relatively stable temperature of the Zephyr for so long. They’ve been away from its comforts for a while, but the transition is taking longer for all three of them than they first thought it might.

Jemma bites her lip. She’s always felt a level of comfort with her father that she’s never found anywhere else. He’s a quiet man, unshakable to a certain extent, and he carries himself tall and full of conviction. And though Jemma knows he loves her completely, it would never cross his mind for him to tell her so.

“I wanted to see the stars,” she says simply, hoping that covers everything else.

“Ah, yes.” There’s a slight quirking up of his lips. “The stars.” He nods up at them. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this.”

“Yes,” Jemma says softly, looking up at the tiny white dots of light. It’s hard to reconcile what she sees down here to what she lived amongst for four years. “It has.”

“Where’s your mum?”

“With Fitz trying to give Alya a bath.” Her father looks at her questioningly and Jemma finds herself smiling. “She gets very excited about them.” And then, because she can’t help but explain herself, she continues, “Alya’s never really seen much water before. There – I mean where we were living – there wasn’t any of it and so every time she sees so much now she gets so excited she can’t keep it to herself and she makes such a mess….”

She trails off, afraid she’s said too much, but her father just shakes his head in amusement. “You used to be the same.”

Jemma frowns. “Did I?”

“Oh, yes. When you had your first swimming lessons the instructor told us he’d never seen such a little girl swim so ferociously and displace so much water from the pool.”

“Oh dear,” she laughs, but still cannot retrieve the memory. “How old was I?”

“Four or five, I think. Quite young. It was just before you started school and you were showing such an aptitude for science. It was all you would do. We were trying to ensure you were well-rounded.”

She tries hard but still has no recollection of these lessons. “I don’t remember.”

“You only lasted a couple of months. You kept trying to talk to the other children about things and they didn’t understand and everyone just got upset. The instructor phoned us down and told us that perhaps you should move to another class.” Her dad shakes his head but there’s a smile on his face. “Your mum pitched a fit but you told us you didn’t want to stay anyway. And then you called your instructor a buttface.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t, did I?” She feels her cheeks flame from an embarrassment that’s three decades too late. “To his face?”

“You did,” he laughs. “And when he tried to protest your mum just said that he shouldn’t act like one then and marched you off. I was left standing with a cheque to pay for your lessons and the poor man looked as though he was going to be sick. Of course, it was all very funny afterwards, though he still can’t look your mum in the eye when he sees her in town.”

She wonders if, in another life, this might have been an anecdote told around the family dinner table. Something that would have been told over and over again until it was soft, like an old jumper that fits perfectly and feels exactly right. Now it’s just itchy, uncomfortable, and it’s like she’s never felt it before in her life.

Her dad must see her face, and know a little of the turmoil she’s feeling inside. “Ah, don’t worry about it, moonbeam. It was a whole lifetime ago. Besides, it’s not like you ever needed to learn how to swim.”

But there was a time that she really did, and there’s a bittersweet relief at the fact that at least some of those early lessons must have remained.

“No,” she says lightly, because she doesn’t want to think about it now, and because she’s used to living a life of not having to tell her parents anything. “I suppose I didn’t.”

Her father hums and looks back up at the stars, arms folded against his chest. He used to do this when she was younger, before her surgeries. Stand next to her with his arms crossed whilst Jemma looked up at the stars, drinking up every last drop of the sky. When she was confined to lying on her back, he would bring out a chair and sit next to her, guiding her hand with his own. Her mother would fret at the door and say it was too cold, they should come in now, but her father would just wave her away.

 _The way I see it,_ he would tell her, elbow resting on her bed, _the stars know more about us than we’ll ever know about them. There’s magic in the science of the stars, Jemma. Something magnificent that we aren’t able to see. Sometimes, though, if you’re very quiet and very still, and it’s a dark night like this, they might just show it to you. I think it’s worth waiting for._

It was such a whimsical notion for her father, a man from whom Jemma has inherited the traits of logic and reason, of things that must be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s taken many years, but she’s finally discovered what he means. There _is_ magic in the stars. She has carried the living proof in her body, has held it in her arms. And he was right, it was worth waiting for.

“Don’t be so hard on your mum, Jemma.”

“What?” She turns to him in surprise, eyebrows shooting to the top of her head. “What do you mean?”

He turns to her knowingly. “I saw your face when she was asking you all those questions earlier. I know exactly what you were thinking.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me. I know what the both of you are like: too similar for your own good.” He tilts his head. “She’s just been worried about you, moonbeam. We both have.”

“I know,” she sighs. She remembers when she first told her parents she was joining a field team, and her mother had been adamant that she shouldn’t have to, that this wasn’t the job she had signed up to do. _It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, Jemma, because I know you can do anything. It’s just that this is much too dangerous and I don’t think you should have to._ There had been a guilt there for frightening her parents, but also a part of that teenage rebellion that had never quite gone away. If they didn’t think that she should have to do it, then she _would,_ and she would make herself invaluable so that her team could never imagine doing it without her.

“I don’t think you do,” her dad chastises her softly, leaving no room for argument. “We heard nothing from you. Not a peep.”

“I couldn’t-”

“No, I know. This is just how it was for us. Our only comfort was that, or we hoped, someone would let us know if something happened to you. If,” he swallows. “If you were dead.”

 _Oh._ She’d known, but now she _knows._ The horrid thought of Alya doing the same to her rises, unbidden, to her mind and she feels her heart jump into her throat.

Her dad looks back to the stars, but Jemma can still see the emotions play out over his usually impassive face.

“It wasn’t easy when you were born. You had the cord all wrapped around your neck and made such a fuss. Afterwards, when everything was alright, I told your mum that because it was so difficult getting you into the world, it would be even more difficult to get you out of it.”

He blows out a breath, willowy wisps floating gently in the night air.

“It’s kept us going, Jemma. All these years we’ve been waiting, wondering what’s become of you. And Fitz, of course. Going over in our heads what we could’ve done differently. If it would have made any difference at all.”

Her mother is the more emotional of them, if it could even be called that. She is the one to argue and fight, the one who taught her to never apologise for who she is. And yet she would never think to say these things that her father is now.

Her father was the one who taught her to put her emotions into a little box. Everything she was afraid of went in and she locked it up tight and, for so many years, this was how she got through. It was how she was able to survive. _So English,_ that’s what Fitz had said, and maybe he was right. And as much as it had hurt having to see what came leaking out, she knows that she would do it all again.

She doesn’t want it to have made a difference. Not when she so dearly loves all that she has now.

“Dad…”

“I know we weren’t always there for you and-”

“You were,” she insists, because they had been. Any time she had needed them then they were there for her. It’s just that she didn’t happen to need them all that often. Rarely did she ask them for anything, and the less she asked, the less they thought to ask after her.

“We just wanted what was best for you.” He still cannot look at her, and she wonders how hard this is for him to say. Fitz’s mum is so free and easy with her emotions, she always says exactly what she’s thinking without a care in the world as to who hears it. Her and Fitz are so close, but with Jemma and her parents there has always been a divide, a _them_ and _her_.

“I know you did,” she says softly. There’s an itchy feeling inside her chest at the thought of comforting her father, someone who’s been so upright and tall her whole life, someone that nothing ever sticks to. He has never said any of this to her before, and after tonight he may well never again.

“We pushed you-”

“I wanted to be pushed. I pushed myself!” There are tears burning in the back of her eyes. “It’s not just on the two of you.”

“I just wanted to say,” he says firmly, silencing her, “that we pushed you, and I am sorry if we ended up pushing you away.”

“You didn’t,” she says, her bottom lip wobbling. “Us staying away had nothing to do with you or Mum. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But before that…” He heaves a great sigh, as though there are a great many things he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say any of them at all. “Something changed when you left. Everything we thought we knew about you we didn’t know anymore.”

“It was always going to change.” She thinks back to how she was, sixteen and endlessly inquisitive. When she stepped away from them at the airport she had no idea what she was walking towards, only that it held promises of discovery and adventure. It’s all that mattered then. Coulson was right – she did end up being one of the most changed by what she saw. None of what mattered then matters now.

“I know, moonbeam,” he sighs and gives her a resigned smile, the one that Fitz gives her every time they realise that Alya is growing up. “I know it had to. Still doesn’t make it any easier.”

In the resulting silence she finds herself fidgeting, wondering what, if anything, she can say to make it alright. There was a part of her that had hoped, coming here to visit like this, would have been smooth, the way it was for Fitz and his mother (even though Fitz would disagree, but Maggie Fitz is mostly talk). She had expected minor moments of frustration, but eventually the joy to be back and the delight of Alya would have negated any of the friction usually felt. But there are some things that nothing can change, and in her absence, Jemma supposes she has forgotten just what type of people she and her parents really are.

“We did notice, you know.”

She says nothing and instead looks questioningly at her dad. He scuffs at the ground with his shoe, an uncharacteristic gesture, and she wonders if he’s nervous, too.

“We noticed when you weren’t here. I know you haven’t lived here since you were sixteen, but we did notice.”

He turns away from her and back to the stars, but not before Jemma catches something glittering at the corner of his eye.

“I know we – I – don’t say this enough to you. It’s one of those things that’s always just left unsaid. You’re the best thing in my life, Jemma.” His voice cracks, and she doesn’t dare breathe. “I-”

“I know,” she interrupts quickly, tears burning at the back of her throat. He can’t say it. She doesn’t need him to. It would be too much. She will be forever grateful that he tried. “I know, Dad. I… I love you, too.”

He smiles wobbly at the night sky, nodding tightly, and Jemma gives a shaky exhale. It’s like a weight has been lifted; something, somewhere in the universe has been righted.

“About where you were all those years…”

“Dad,” she groans, not wanting to revisit it again.

“You weren’t _here_ , were you?”

She frowns at first, uncomprehending, but then the look on his face and the slight stress on a word suddenly makes sense. No idea what to say, she flounders, mouth opening and closing very much like those fish Alya cannot get enough of.

“I don’t want you to say anything you can’t,” he hurries to say. “I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. I just thought I’d ask.”

“No,” she manages, tongue unsticking from her mouth. She glances back up at the night sky, her home for so many years. How strange that it should seem both like yesterday and a lifetime ago. “We weren’t here.”

He nods as though it makes perfect sense, but says nothing else on it, and she knows he never will. Instead, he smiles and asks, “So you named her Alya?”

She laughs, swiping under her eyes quickly. “Yes, we did.”

“Your favourite star,” her dad says, quietly. “You wanted to know everything about all of the stars, but you always kept coming back to those three.”

Everything comes back to the three of them. All roads lead home, after all. Her, Fitz and Alya, the centre of their own little world.

“It suits her,” he says approvingly, and though she has never needed his approval, there is a part of her that is glad she has it. “She’s a wonderful star.”

“She is,” Jemma says, smiling, thinking of her daughter upstairs, no doubt running rings around her mother, unable to be tamed by Fitz. “The most magnificent of all.”

“You have a beautiful family, Jemma.”

She feels her bottom lip wobbling again, though she doesn’t know why. Sometimes she still cannot believe it. “I know.”

She shivers and tries to draw her cardigan further around herself, stretching the material as far as it will go. It’s still taking a bit of getting used to. Her dad says nothing but lifts his arm, and she finds she doesn’t even hesitate before tucking herself in at his side.

“All we wanted was for you to be happy, moonbeam,” he says, his breath warm on top of her hair.

It didn’t always seem like it, but she knows now that they tried in their own way. They gave her what they thought she needed to be happy, and in doing so they’ve given her everything. She thinks of the moment she walked away and the moment she came back, and then every moment in between. There is not a single one she would change.

“I’m happy,” she says, realising just how true it is. She’s so deliriously happy with Fitz and with Alya and with this new adventure they’ve decided to embark upon. “I promise you that.”

“I’m glad,” he says, giving her a quick kiss on top of her hair.

There’s a laugh from somewhere inside the house, echoing around the still night air, followed by Fitz’s very exasperated voice shouting, _water should be inside the bath, monkey. _Jemma smiles wider than she means to, wondering what sorts of chaos her family has managed to cook up in her absence.

“Oh dear,” her dad laughs. “It sounds like quite the party is happening.”

Jemma laughs too, uncaring of the mess she knows she’ll find when she goes back inside. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

There’s another laugh from inside the house, followed by the most fantastic crash. She feels her dad tense slightly, no doubt anticipating the mood of her mum. “Are they always like this?”

“Yes,” Jemma says, somewhat proudly. “They are.” She thinks, _I wouldn’t have them any other way._


	3. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Fitz automatically lifts his arm up as Jemma slides under the duvet and into the bed next to him._
> 
> _“Jemma,” he groans, as she settles her head onto his chest. “You’re freezing.”_
> 
> _“I suppose I am,” she laughs lowly, pressing herself closer to him, enjoying his breathy shiver and the feeling of his arms as they come around her. “Can you manage it?”_
> 
> _“I think I can brave it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile._
> 
> It's been a long day. Jemma gets to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part! It's a bit shorter and a bit Fitz-ier but I thought it would be a nice moment to round everything off.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read it and kudos-ed it and commented on it and liked it and reblogged it ... you're wonderful beans and it really means a lot that you're here, even when the world is as it is. I appreciate it and you so much!
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

Fitz automatically lifts his arm up as Jemma slides under the duvet and into the bed next to him.

“Jemma,” he groans, as she settles her head onto his chest. “You’re freezing.”

“I suppose I am,” she laughs lowly, pressing herself closer to him, enjoying his breathy shiver and the feeling of his arms as they come around her. “Can you manage it?”

“I think I can brave it,” he grumbles, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “Is Alya alright?”

“Yes,” she whispers, thinking of the daughter she’s just peeped in on, sleeping soundly in what used to be Jemma’s old bedroom, now converted into a guest room. Her parents are going to do it up the way Alya wants, make it her own bedroom for when she comes to stay. “She’s out like a light.”

“I’m not surprised,” he huffs. “You should have seen her in the bath, Jemma. Honestly, you would’ve thought she was half-fish herself the way she was acting.”

She smiles into Fitz’s chest. Their daughter is absolutely water obsessed. “Well, she’s still getting used to them.”

“Maybe we should sign her up for swimming lessons.”

The thought of signing her little girl up for something that means spending more time away from her causes a clenching feeling in Jemma’s chest and she says nothing, simply humming. Fitz says nothing either, only chuckles lowly, and she knows he’s feeling the same.

“Maybe not swimming lessons, judging by the mess she makes,” he says after a moment. “Maybe pony-riding lessons would be more appropriate. We’ll be able to give her them at home since we’re apparently getting one.”

“I’m guessing Alya knows what a pony is now?”

“Oh, yeah, Jemma. She definitely knows what a pony is now.”

Alya’s rather tenacious, and it’s going to take a lot for her to let go of the idea of having a pony in her back garden.

“Oh dear,” Jemma laughs. “I’m sorry, Fitz.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he sighs, in a rare mood of letting it go. “How did the talks with your mum and dad go?”

The day has lasted so long, it seems. The talk with her mother feels like aeons away from the talk with her father, and being here with Fitz now feels like aeons away from them both.

“Good.” She has forgotten that she hasn’t had a moment to speak to him since either of them. After her mother there was dinner, and then there was her father. Then there was trying to clean up the mess Alya had spectacularly made before trying to get her to sleep. Then there had been the four of them sitting in the living room in front of the TV before Fitz had kissed her knowingly and gone to bed. Then it had just been the three of them for the first time in a long time, and surprisingly it had been okay.

Before going to bed herself she had slipped out the back door once more and looked up at the stars. Even now she still looks at them and thinks of home. Things have been so overwhelming these last few months, with moving to Scotland and doing up the house. In a world where everything around her is changing so quickly, it’s nice to look up and remember a time when things never did.

“Good?”

“I don’t know, Fitz.” She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s not like it is with your mum.”

“I know it’s not.”

“It’s not so easy.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“I mean we’ve had so many years of just not talking about it, even before I left.”

“Jemma,” his voice is firm in her ear, and the arms around her squeeze gently. “I _know_.”

“I’m sorry.” She gives a long exhale, suddenly feeling so drained. He does know. He has always known. He might not be able to understand it, to feel it the way she feels it, but he does know. “I always knew this was going to be hard.”

“You did, but you also knew that you had to do it.”

“I did,” she nods. “I did have to do it.”

There’s a whole adventure they’re embarking on, and she very much wants her parents to be a part of it. She meant what she told her mother earlier – she wants things to be different. In order to make them so, however, she had to do this first, no matter how hard it was going to be.

Fitz presses a kiss on top of her hair. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

She laughs in disbelief. “For what?”

“For all of it, Jemma.” His voice has taken on a strange quality, and she can’t bring herself to turn up and look at his face. “For everything you’ve done for me and for Alya. For getting through what you did. For coming here today even though you really didn’t want to.”

“It’s not that I didn’t _want_ to.”

“Come off it. You had that look all over your face before we left this morning.”

“What look? I don’t have a look.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

“I do _not._ ”

“Point _is,_ ” he insists, coming back around, “is that you’ve done so much even when you didn’t want to or thought you couldn’t. You always have done. You’re incredible, Jemma Simmons.”

She wants to give him a comment, a sharp _don’t you ever forget it, Leopold Fitz,_ but she can’t because the words are stuck, and whenever she reaches for them they disappear like candyfloss melting on her tongue.

Fitz bends his head down towards her, his lips brushing against her cheek. “You’re the best thing in my life,” he whispers. Then she feels him scrunch his nose. “Well, second-best.”

She laughs tearily, but only because it’s true. She turns her head and catches his lips in a gentle kiss. “I know,” she says softly, looking into the face she trusts more than anything else. Life, heart, and home. “You’re the second-best thing in my life, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading - I really hope you enjoyed this! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day and are managing to stay safe and well <3


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